The sacrificial lamb
by MLaw
Summary: Illya's in the hands of the C.I.A. and it doesn't look good. Written for a MFU writing challenge on Live Journal, where there was a word limit.


Illya looked up as he heard a noise on the other side of the bars to his cell door.

Someone tapped on the metal; it sounded like Napoleon's coded knock but the man standing there bore no resemblance to the Amercian at all. He was a man with a rather large girth, a bulbous nose with a bushy black moustache and beard.

Kuryakin had been picked up by the C.I.A. for yet another one of what Illya presumed was an excuse to harass him.

He'd done nothing wrong, per se. His being a covert operative for the Command did put him in situations where he was forced to use violence now and then. Granted he'd broken into a few places but all in the name of the greater good and none of them had anything to do with American security.

Mr. Waverly had always there to soothe any ruffled feathers caused by his agents, but this time he wasn't. Illya didn't quite know what to make of it. Was he being betrayed by U.N.C.L.E.?

No calls were made on the Russian's behalf, no one came to find him, not even his partner.

The C.I.A. was making threats, none of which frightened him. First mentioned, a death sentence...like the one given Ethel and Julius Rosenberg in hopes of breaking him. Death was something Kuryakin faced everyday and he was ready for it; as an agent he had to be prepared.

They threatened life imprisonment, but lastly they finally admitted they were turn him over to the KGB but for what reason they wouldn't reveal it to him.

That bothered Illya. The KGB was always looking to get their hands on him, but having the Americans hand him over to them on a silver platter that made no sense. Would he at last be a sacrificial lamb? He was thought to be that when he was transferred to the U.N.C.L.E. but now was Waverly letting him go back home to die? What had he done wrong to deserve this, or was he now just a pawn in a political game?

Illya knew that once KGB had him, he would experience torture the likes of which he'd never known. They would make him beg for death...of that he was sure. It was all a matter of revenge for his joining U.N.C.L.E. but refusing to be duplicitous and spy on them for KGB.

He swallowed hard, but rose nonchalantly, brushing off his **orange** jumpsuit as he walked towards the cell door, and man who waited there.

"So what do they want to accuse me of now?" He asked, a sarcastic tone to his voice.

"The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain."

Illya's eyes widened as he recognized it as a **password** . It was Soviet, but an old GRU one.

"But only when the tundra is in bloom." Kuryakin gave the proper response. Was GRU coming to his rescue? He felt his heart leap.

The cell door was unlocked; Illya had his hands cuffed behind his back. He was escorted from the facility in silence and had no idea where he was until he stepped outside.

"West Berlin?" He asked his escort. He recognized the building as the military headquarters of the U.S. Berlin Brigade. It was the former site of the headquarters of the German Luftwaffe for Berlin defense during the war.

Still he found it strange there were no U.S. guards outside the door as there had always been in the past.

The escort nodded wordlessly and pointed to a black sedan parked in front of the building entrance. As Illya slipped into the backseat, the thought returned that he was still being turned over to KGB after all.

It wasn't that far a drive to an authorized crossing into East Berlin. Once on their way, he would know by the direction in which they went.

His escort sat beside him, and once the car door was closed the driver started up the engine and drove slowly away.

Kuryakin felt a hand on his shoulder, pushing him forward, and the handcuffs were removed. He sat back, rubbing his wrists.

"Who are you?" He had to ask.

There was a familiar laugh, and he watched as the man beside him removed a latex nose as well as a false beard and moustache.

"Comrade Kuryakin," the man let go a belly laugh."In trouble again?"

" _Ivan Sergeivich Krasnov,"_ the UNCLE agent smiled. Memories of their time together in GRU flashed through Illya's head. "Good to see you. How are you and that crazy brother of yours?"

"Vadim is dead I am afraid, me I am good, but now to you." *

"GRU sent me to negotiate to take custody of you, instead of KGB getting their stinking hands on you. That and the intercession of a Mister Waverly who argued on your behalf."

"Waverly? I thought that U.N.C.L.E. had abandoned me."

"Apparently not. The American C.I.A. had excluded him from your situation, and your Waverly was made aware by Chief of Directorate, Colonel-General Vladimirovich contacted U.N.C.L.E."

"And now what happens?" Illya asked.

"Ah patience volchonok," Ivan smiled.

"I have not been called wolf cub in a long time." Illya's blue eyes twinkled at last.

After traveling a short distance the black sedan pulled curbside along the block where the West Berlin headquarters of U.N.C.L.E. was located. Though that was supposed to be secret, to those deep into the espionage business, nothing was secret or sacred.

The car door opened and Illya stepped out, looking quite out of place in his brightly colored jumpsuit. Stepping out of a doorway, Napoleon greeted his partner and quickly placed a black trench coat over Illya's shoulders.

"Come on tovarisch, let's get you inside."

Once there everything was explained in detail to Kuryakin. The C.I.A. had set him up; no surprise there. They did however hide the fact that they had taken the Russian into their custody.

Waverly sent out every feeler possible but to no avail; it was as if his Russian had completely disappeared. It wasn't until the GRU picked up chatter by the KGB indicating the C.I.A. was going to trade Kuryakin for an American operative who'd been captured in Moscow by the Secret Police that he was brought up to snuff.

As Illya showered and shaved in a private bathroom, Napoleon rounded up a change of clothing for his partner. Once dressed, Illya sat on a chair there, not looking very happy. He was pale and distant.

"Napoleon though I know Mr. Waverly and you were working to find me, the feeling that U.N.C.L.E. had abandoned me was nearly overwhelming. I had come to trust the Command, and felt completely betrayed."

"I understand, but I want you to listen to me carefully. We and I mean U.N.C.L.E. will never abandon you. You Illya Kuryakin are one of us, remember that. Mr. Waverly is involving the State Department and says he won't rest until you're left alone by the C.I.A. so you can do your job without being hindered by them.

"I can do my job? Is that all I mean to him, just being a cog in his wheel of agents?"

"You know better than that, you're family. Period."

Illya paused, absorbing that thought. "Thank you my friend, but as good as Mr. Waverly is, I have a feeling KGB will still be bothering me. They never give up. Now might we go get something to eat? I was not fed very well while imprisoned."

"Sure, anything you want partner," Napoleon smiled as he clapped his hand on his friend's shoulder. He was relieved that he had Illya back where he belonged, and that was at his side.

Though in Solo's heart he wanted revenge for what was done to his friend, he knew better. Alexander Waverly would take care of this business with the C.I.A... of that he had no doubt, and the man would do it in his own exacting way.

.

* _Vadim Sergeivich Krasnov," was resurrected in my story : "The 7 Cities Affair"_


End file.
